


Christmas Lists

by Hisa_Ai



Series: 31 Days of Christmas [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of fic, Childhood, Christmas, Christmas Lists, Christmas prompts, Day 3, Memories, Nostalgia, Prompt Fic, Yule, knights of camelot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hisa_Ai/pseuds/Hisa_Ai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin recalls an old tradition from his childhood and Arthur does what he needs to to make him feel more at home when nostalgia has him longing for simpler days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Lists

* * *

 

Growing up in Ealdor hadn't provided the most pleasant childhood ever, but it was all Merlin had ever known, so it was enough. Amongst everything that was always going on in their humble village, his mother always managed to make the hard times pleasant and keep the worse times hopeful, making it all the better than it might have otherwise been.

Holidays, Sabbats, were always hardest. There was hardly enough to go around during the normal days, so when Yule and Beltane and Samhain and all other such days came around and there were tales of feasts and celebrations in far-off lands, morale tended to be at the lowest. Especially for those not quite old enough to understand why they were not allowed to celebrate as those in their stories did.

And when Merlin was of the age when he started to understand things better, he accepted the reality with heavy shoulders and clear eyes, as all children in Ealdor eventually did.

Hunith saw through him, however, saw how he wanted to be able to celebrate as those outside the village did, and made it her goal, as all mothers did, to keep him happy and his young spirit unbroken and hopeful.

So she started little traditions that slowly spread throughout the village when Merlin was young.

He had found the request odd the first time his mother had put parchment and quill in front of him and told him to write down everything he would like, in a perfect world, to have happen or just  _have_  by the end of the 12 Days of Christmastide.

It was odd, but he did it anyway. He wrote down how he'd like to see his mother happy again, how he'd like to have more fun with Will, how he'd like to be welcome and accepted for who he was, how he'd like life to just be easier for him and his mother…

Once he was satisfied that he'd gotten it all down on paper, he took it to his mother, watched her read it over with soft, sad eyes, and then throw it into the fire, leaving him rather confused. Why make him go through all that if she was simply going to destroy it afterwards?

She explained to him, then, that the point was to release all one's hopes and dreams from inside their heart and get it out on paper, then let it out into the world by burning it to manifest in its own time and with God's will. All it took, she told him, to make his dreams all come true was to give them space, freedom, and time.

As he grew up, he learned that maybe everything she told him wasn't completely true and that dreams were a luxury for people better off than him, and anyway, they required more energy and effort than he had left at the end of the day. But still, in the spirit of Yule and everything his mother had ever done for him, every year after the first snowfall, he sat down and he wrote his list and then burned it in private.

This year, he had almost decided against making and burning a list—surely, he was getting much too old for such things—but when the first snow fall came, he felt a familiar tugging in his chest, his fingers itching to pour his heart out onto something none but him would see anyway.

But, for a few days, he ignored it, left without much time on his hands to do it anyway.

Until a meeting at the round table that he was invited to sit in on. It was rare, but sometimes Arthur invited him to sit next to him during a meeting he was sure was going to run long. They were usually dull and of little interest to him, but at least he was able to sit through it instead of standing nearby with a pitcher of water to refill goblets.

This particular meeting proved to be just as boring as Merlin expected it to be, and not even half-way through it, he felt his fingers itching towards the paper and quill he was always provided with when invited to sit in on meetings. He was to take notes, if he felt it necessary, but Arthur never held him or anyone else to thought. He knew how boring the meetings could prove to be and he didn't want to make it any worse than it already was for anyone.

So when Merlin gave in to the itch and began to furiously scribble away on the parchment, Arthur's eyes darted to him with suspicion and curiosity, ignoring whatever it was Leon was going on about as he watched him for a moment. Merlin knew then, as he wrote down what he would have, in a perfect world—once Albion was created, maybe?—that if there weren't so many eyes on them, the king would have snatched the parchment up like a child to see what was being written on it.

So he mentioned nothing of his magic or wanting it to be accepted within the kingdom. Just in case he gave in to the urge once they were alone again.

As the meeting ended and most of the knights filed out—leaving just Leon, Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, Lancelot, and of course Arthur—Merlin was still scribbling away, lost in rhythm and memory and nostalgia. He had done this every year since he was a child, but he couldn't quite recall a time when it truly felt so freeing and exhilarating and satisfying. Maybe he just had more to get out this year, or maybe it was something else entirely, something he couldn't quite place his finger on.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur said at last when he paid him no mind, despite his eyes burning holes into his head.

"Hm?" Merlin asked back, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing."

"Yes, I can see that, but…  _why?_   _What_ are you doing?" Arthur asked pointedly.

Merlin dropped the quill to the parchment and sighed, looked back at the knights gathered around him. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure himself what he was doing or why, just that it needed to be done. He didn't expect any of them to understand. In fact, he expected a fair deal of ridicule and mocking, but…

"It's stupid," he said at last, looking down at the words he'd written on the page. And they were very stupid indeed, the things he had written down, but they were in his heart, and that was the point, his mother had taught him. He would not be ashamed of that.

"I've no doubt about that since it's coming from  _you_ ," Arthur teased, nudging Merlin's shoulder with his own in a sign of good nature. "But what  _is_  it?" he asked again

"Just… something from my childhood. Something my mother always had me do this time of year." Merlin replied vaguely, hoping against logic that Arthur would accept that and let it go. Then again, he should have known his king better than that by now, should have known that would just make him even more curious about it

" _What is it?_ " Arthur asked, reaching around Merlin to try to take the parchment from him. Merlin slapped his hand away without thinking of the consequences, and Arthur gave him an incredulous look that would have meant a smack upside the head under normal circumstances, but since Merlin still hadn't told him what he wanted to know, he was safe. For now

"I'll tell you,  _if_  you promise not to laugh," he offered slowly, not sure why he wanted such a promise but holding out for it regardless.

Arthur pursed his lips and looked back to his knights, looking for confirmation and solidarity, no doubt. Apparently finding what he was looking for, he turned back to Merlin and nodded, a taunt smile on his face

"All right, I give you my sacred word as king of Camelot that I will not laugh. Now  _tell_   _me_." He insisted.

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better," Merlin grumbled, looking at Arthur with the distrust of a grimy child. But Arthur looked back at him with what resembled patience and sincerity. And anyway, there was no way he was leaving that room without Arthur finding out, one way or another. Might was well do it the easy way

"You've been to Ealdor, Arthur," Merlin said at last, addressing only him, though some of the other knights had been as well. "You know what things are like, how there's barely enough to go around even during the best of times."

"Yes, but what—"

"It's no different during the Sabbats." He interrupted impatiently. "You might be used to celebrations and feasts, but not everyone is so fortunate. We had very little, but my mother… She always wanted to make them special; she always wanted to make sure I didn't have to be… She didn't want me to listen to the stories of a spoiled rotten prince gorging himself every night and feel bad about where we were, so… she started these little traditions to keep me busy, to keep me happy," he picked up the quill and stabbed at the paper absentmindedly to make a point.

He pursed his lips, looked off for a moment, recalling the years that had passed and the wonders they had brought. His mother truly was a wonderful woman. He should pay her a visit soon.

"What were these traditions?" Arthur prompted like an impatient child.

"Mmmm, on Beltane," Merlin began once more, turning back to Arthur. "Will and I would go to these fields just outside the village and pick flowers, bring them back to the village and give some to all the girls and women. We would save the best ones for our mothers and anyone we happened to fancy at the time," he grinned and shook his head, eyes crinkled with the old memories of his best friend he rarely allowed himself anymore as the knights chuckled behind him.

"And, uhm," he shook himself out of his reprieve, his tone softer now. "Just before Yule, just after the first snowfall of the season, she would have me sit down and write up a list," he tapped the paper again, not bothering to elaborate.

"A list? Of what?" Arthur asked curiously.

"Of the things we want."

"I don't understand."

"No, you wouldn't." Arthur shot him a look, which he rolled his eyes at before explaining the lists to him just as his mother had first explained it to him and then adding in his own thoughts on the subject that had come with age. He felt rather silly saying it aloud in front of the King and Knights of Camelot, but since they were his friends he did it anyway. If they hadn't been, he might not have bothered at all.

"I wasn't going to do it this year," Merlin admitted when Arthur nodded at his explanation and shared memories, his face pensive in an almost scary sort of way.

"Why not?" Elyan asked from behind him, the first one other than himself or Arthur to say anything since the meeting had let out.

"Dunno, just… felt a bit old to be doing it, I suppose," he shrugged. "But… old habits, I guess. I've done it every year since I was five, after all. I guess it just… makes me feel more at home." Merlin admitted, more to himself than the others. Was that why he still did it? To feel closer to his mother, to Will, to the good times he had had, despite everything that had happened in Ealdor? He supposed it made some sort of sense, if he thought about it. He enjoyed his life in Camelot—well, as much as one could enjoy being Arthur Pendragon's manservant, anyway—but sometimes he did long for the simpler days of childhood. Nostalgia might do that to a person, Gaius had told him once.

"You don't feel at home here?" Lancelot asked him, his tone worried.

"Sometimes, no."

"But you've got us." Gwaine said, almost offended.

"You guys are friends, sure, but, at the end of the day, I'm just a servant and you lot are the knights and king of Camelot. I say something you don't like and suddenly you're pulling rank on me. Never means much, of course," he added as an afterthought, remembering all the times he'd gone against orders and wishes to do what he knew to be right. "But it doesn't feel like something a friend should do,"

"You'd rather be in Ealdor?" Percival asked suddenly. "In  _Cenred's_  kingdom? Doesn't Arthur treat you well?"

"Sorry, have you seen the way he treats me? Always throwing goblets at my head and threatening to have me banished and thrown in the stocks—not very friendly by my definition," Merlin teased, nudging Arthur the way he had done to him not too long ago.

Arthur rolled his eyes, half-smiling as he said, "You didn't answer the question,  _Mer_ lin."

"Would I rather be in Ealdor? Sometimes, yeah. Doesn't matter that it's in Cenred's kingdom, that I was always an outsider there anyway; it's home. Where I grew up, where my mother is, where Will… Well, where Will  _was_." Merlin said with little humor, almost sighing with the memories and nostalgia he was feeling. He'd rather be at Gaius' having these thoughts, holed up in his room with his list and memories, burning it, letting the thoughts drift away without having to give them the light of day. They didn't hold as much weight when they were just thoughts, after all. They weighed him down once he said them aloud, when he shared them with people. But Arthur…

"Give me some paper, Merlin." Arthur said suddenly, reaching out and yanking a blank sheet of the parchment from under Merlin's list when he didn't comply quickly enough. He snagged a quill from nearby and spread the paper out on the table then, bent over and went to work.

"What are you doing?" Merlin asked curiously, watching as Arthur's hand danced across the sheet, scribbling out words Merlin could just barely make out in his chicken scratch.

"If writing a  _list_  is all it takes to make you feel at home," he said, glancing up at him. "Then consider this the start of our own little tradition in the castle." And then he turned his attention back to the paper without another word, focusing instead on the words he was putting down.

Merlin was shocked, speechless with Arthur's gesture. He hadn't been… Why would Arthur… All to make  _him_  feel more at home?

He was about to say something—thank you, perhaps? Or that he didn't need to do this for him. Or…  _something_ —but the knights behind him suddenly starting moving around, all grabbing parchment and quills of their own and taking their seats at the table once more, the gesture more than enough to make Merlin's heart swell and his grin stay put for a while.

Later that night, when all the lists were written and Merlin was grateful that they were such great friends, they went outside to where Arthur started a small fire and burned them, all united, all sealing the beginnings of a new tradition in Camelot.

* * *

 


End file.
